


The Song in the Night

by sandalwoodbox



Category: Steerswoman Series - Rosemary Kirstein
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Homesickness, Marriage Proposal, Misses Clause Challenge, Nostalgia, Post-Book 4: The Language of Power, Post-Canon, Post-Coital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandalwoodbox/pseuds/sandalwoodbox
Summary: Rowan and Bel spend a wintry evening singing, talking, and looking at charts.
Relationships: Bel/Rowan (Steerswoman)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Song in the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marinarusalka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinarusalka/gifts).



The blankets were tossed and rumpled, so the paper didn’t quite sit flat where it lay, illuminated by a cold white glow falling through the window. The crisp lines and symbols were thrown into sharp relief in the evening’s lantern light, much more so than they had been during the cloudy day.

“I like your maps better,” said the smaller of the two women in the bed. “If you’d given this to me when we parted, I wouldn’t have found my way back to the Outskirts even with just the one road.” She shifted her pillow to protect her naked back from the cold headrest and leaned back against it.

“It’s not that kind of map, exactly,” said the other woman. “It shows the flow of energy in the magic lamps.” She leaned forward, tracing the lines with a hand marked with a dozen crossing scars. “It starts here, almost like a spring, then follows this path until it flows through the lamp. The lamp contains a strand of metal that heats up when energy passes through it, so hot that it glows brightly. That uses up some of the energy, but what remains continues flowing down to the end.”

“Like when Jannik tried to kill you?”

Her hand went involuntarily to her chest, where five thin scars, like a skeletal hand between her breasts and collarbone, served as a reminder of the event. She smiled. “Bel! Yes, exactly! The energy flowed from his hand, through me, through my boots, into the ground. And the boots melted because they heated up from the energy passing through.” She scribbled a few notes on the chart, then paused. “There must be equations for this. I’ll have to ask Will tomorrow.”

Bel stood abruptly and walked to the window, casting a shadow over the diagram on the bed as she stared down the slopes of The Crags at the uncountable glass globes scattered around the city. It was as if the stars had been pulled down from the sky, leaving it dark and full of wintery clouds. “Rowan…” she fell silent.

Rowan took the pause to admire her partner’s muscular form, illuminated more starkly than would be possible with natural light.  _ I would love to sketch her like this. _

“It is a dangerous power,” Bel said at last. “It is good that Will is teaching you.”

_ Good. _ There were many meanings behind that word. Good – because having a teacher meant that Rowan wouldn’t end up injured or dead from exuberant experimentation. Good – because it meant Will was still an ally they could rely on. Good – because spreading knowledge of the principles of magic meant a smaller gap in power between common folk and wizards. Good – because the Outskirter needed someone she could trust fully, who understood the threats that both of their people faced, who could advise her in the coming conflict against forces that, just a few years ago, were beyond imagining.

Rowan took the diagram over to her pack and slipped it into her logbook, then crossed to stand behind Bel, taking hold of her hips and bending to kiss her shoulder. Rowan could feel the cold radiating from the window onto her face and hands, but Bel’s buttocks and back were as warm as when they’d been lying in bed. There was no hearth in the building; perhaps more magic at work? Another application of materials that heat due to resistance? She added it to her mental list of questions for Will.

Their closeness, the cinnamon scent of Bel’s hair, Bel’s right hand reaching up and back to tangle in Rowan’s hair and grasp. Rowan’s eyes closed as she let her own hands drift upward to the base of Bel’s ribcage. She squeezed a moment, and said, “Sing me a song?” One of the unexpected benefits of becoming lovers with her friend was being graced with exceedingly private performances; now seemed as good a moment as any for another.

Bel turned her head, staring up at Rowan with her large, dark eyes, tilting her mouth up for a kiss that Rowan granted gladly. Then she released her grip on Rowan’s hair, turned back to the window, took a slow breath, and began.

It was a wistful tune, and one Rowan had not heard before. She let her hands aimlessly map the outline of Bel’s body as the music washed over her, feeling the deeper notes rumbling through Bel’s shoulder blades.

“...So I've been telling old stories, singing songs   
that make me think about where I came from.   
And that's the reason why I seem   
so far away today.”

Rowan could sense, underneath the song, Bel’s own longing to return to her home. The rattling hiss of wind through the redgrass; the call of “Timber!” as lichen towers fall; the trawlers lazily spinning their chutes; the endless war against the land.

The Outskirter was farther away from her home than she ever had been. In distance traveled, of course – but also in time. Slado’s abuse of Routine Bioform Clearance had so disrupted the Outskirter’s way of life that it wasn’t at all clear they would be able to return to it after… whatever happened next.

Bel’s voice was the only sound; Bel’s back against her chest the only warmth. The city stretched out below them, muffled in snow and darkness. They could easily be the only two people in the entire world. Rowan felt tears prick at her eyes and wiped them away in surprise.  _ What? _

“...I have moved and I've kept on moving,   
proved the points that I needed proving   
Lost the friends that I needed losing,   
found others on the way.”

Perhaps the original writer of this song was a Steerswoman, Rowan thought to herself briefly. But no, that couldn’t be. If they had been a steerswoman there would have been a record of the song, and she would have known it. And besides, you wouldn’t last as a steerswoman if you weren’t willing to leave your home behind.

Skies, she had left her home behind so many times. The Archives, most recently. Before that, Alemeth. Then the Outskirts. The Archives again. Maranne’s house. Umber.

Umber, her first home, set on the edge of the Red Desert, where humanity slowly spread its funeral groves north into the split emptiness of sky and sand. Everything had been so simple, so familiar, so limited. Leaving for the Academy had felt like an escape.

Now, more than a decade had passed. Even the Archives seemed strange to her when she returned after only a few years. In Umber, the children would be grown, and the elders would have trees planted on their graves. And she herself had changed; what seemed limited to a curious child who had known nothing else might have more meaning and variation under her trained and practiced Steerswoman eye.

From outside, a soft crunch of snow broke the silence as a well-bundled person made their way to the stairs and started up towards the next landing. And so Rowan realized that the song had ended. “Where is Caledonia?”

Bel shrugged. “Nowhere. It’s a mythical land; a few of our oldest songs mention it.” She pulled away from Rowan and lay down on the bed, leaving plenty of room to be a clear invitation.

Rowan followed and sat on the edge, where she could look at Bel’s face. “Where are you going to go after all this?”

“After?” Bel rolled closer to Rowan, taking up her hand and drawing it close to her chest. “If we survive going against the wizards… I suppose we’ll have to see.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you still planning to put your life at risk at every opportunity?”

“I have never done that!” Rowan objected, then amended, “Well, not at  _ every _ opportunity.”

Bel laughed. “It does keep me on my toes, though. The Inner Lands might be boring otherwise.”

“Do you want me to stop, then, or not? I wouldn’t want you to get  _ bored,” _ Rowan responded archly.

“I want you to be who you are and who you want to be.” Those dark eyes again, looking up. “I want to go with you and keep you safe from the dangers you don’t see, and help you defeat those that you do.” Bel sighed dramatically. “My people will return to the Outskirts, if they can, but it seems I’ve gotten my heart stuck to a Steerswoman.”

“I would love to go to the Outskirts again!” said Rowan. “To visit, at least.” It would be good to see Kammeryn’s tribe and others getting back to their lives. “I was thinking I might also see if Keridwen needs someone to take the route on the North Road. I could stop by my hometown, and see my parents, and my aunt and uncle. Would you want to come?”

“I see I need to make this clearer to you,” Bel sighed. She sat up, bringing her face close to Rowan’s. “If we die facing Slado, we will be together. If one of us dies, we will still be together in the end. And if by some miracle we survive, I will be by your side for the rest of our lives, if you want me.”

Rowan felt a joyous thrill rush through her body with a shiver. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.” A sudden thought. “I should warn you that I will be wanting to talk to the demons again.”

“I assumed.”

Rowan scooted forward to embrace Bel, taking a small nip at her ear for good measure. “So,” she whispered. “How soon exactly can we reasonably get started on marriage rites?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Caledonia, by Dougie MacLean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shzORViC3Do)
> 
> This accidentally ended up being a sort of unofficial sequel to my Yuletide gift from last year, [The Unseen Connections](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843820).
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful betas, Nikki373 and Rhea314!


End file.
